Spud Row
by Lttlefoot
Summary: A squash gets lost in a dangerous area and has a terrifying adventure as he tries to get home.


Troy was lost. That was, perhaps, the one thing he knew for sure. He'd been walking home from squash practice along a route he knew well, but somehow ended up in unfamiliar territory. He didn't recognise any of the landmarks, and every turn he took just seemed to lead him further in the wrong direction. Troy felt hungry. He opened up his squash bag hoping that something other than a racquet had miraculously appeared in the bag while he'd been carrying it, but all he found was a racquet. It started to get dark.

In the dying light of the day, Troy noticed that the houses looked a lot shabbier than he was used to. Also, they were very close together. As he walked down the street, the houses got closer and closer together until suddenly, they were apartments. It got dark. Troy felt his eyes beginning to strain and decided to sit down for a while. 'Maybe the Plantern Corps will find me and take me home', he thought, 'or maybe I can ask someone for directions.' After a while, a group of puff-shrooms walked past. "Does anyone know the way to Cherry Brook?" asked Troy.

"You lost?" asked one of the puff-shrooms. Troy nodded.

"Well, obviously you throw a zag at the dew pod, do a wimpy squizzle, go down there for a bit and ziggedy at Cornwell. That should get you outta Spudders, at mini."

"Sorry, I don't understand your slang", said Troy.

"Get a load o' this grey walker! If he don't speak dirt, he can sleep in it!" laughed the puff-shroom, and the group walked away.

'A dew pod would be really great, whatever that is', thought Troy, 'because I am rather thirsty.' He sat there for a while longer until he was startled by the sound of an explosion. Troy stood up and looked around. He couldn't see what had caused it. 'Jalapeno?' thought Troy. 'No, can't be. I'm not that far from home. Maybe a potato mine in a domestic dispute? The shabby apartments – the slang – surely not, not here, not now...'

A look of terror crept across Troy's face. 'I'm in Spud Row', he realised. He tried to recall what he had learned in his local history class. 'The immigration of the squashes - racial tension between the squashes and the potatoes – Crazy Dave's disappearance – the contract between the potatoes and the zombies, what was it called? Mutually assured demolition? No, that wasn't it. Why didn't they ever teach us how to survive out here instead of these useless facts? I've got to keep moving.' Troy started to run down the street, until he noticed how much noise his feet were making. 'No, I've got to be inconspicuous', he thought.

As he walked past a rather sinister-looking apartment block, a potato walked up the driveway and stared at him. Troy tried not to make eye contact. But as he walked past, the potato said to him, "Hey kid. Whaddya buying?" Troy gave him a confused look.

"You're in my shop. Whaddya buying?" said the potato again.

"Er... what do you have?" asked Troy.

"Best super plant food in Spud Row! Even a square-ass squash like you oughta appreciate! Or I gotta wide range of shovels if you're looking to defend yourself", said the potato.

Troy briefly considered telling him that both of those products were illegal. Then he thought better of it and instead said, truthfully, "I don't have any sun."

"Well if you ain't a customer then you're just a trespasser!" yelled the potato, and suddenly there was a shovel in his hands. Troy also saw a couple more potatoes appear out of the shadows, also carrying shovels. Troy dropped his squash bag and started to sprint down the street. He ran until he felt like his legs were going to fall off, not daring to look back to see if the potatoes were following him. He fell to the ground and tried to roll, but, being conical, he didn't get very far. He couldn't hear anyone. Couldn't see anyone. Couldn't feel any shovels cutting into his flesh. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The place he now found himself in looked, if possible, even uglier than Spud Row. And he also began to notice an unusual smell pervading the place. 'Perhaps this is where the mushrooms live', thought Troy. 'If my luck changes, maybe I can find a safe place to stay the night.' Suddenly he heard a high pitched moan. "Braaaaiiins". Troy froze. He saw a football helmet peeking from around a corner. "Brains?" asked the voice. The zombie stepped into view. Troy turned and ran. He immediately felt his legs complain about being subjected to such exertion again, and he knew he would not be able to outrun a football zombie. He saw an open door on his left. He dove inside the house and closed the door. Noticing an old upright piano in the front room, he wheeled it in front of the door.

Troy surveyed his new surroundings. The house was dark, and he couldn't hear anyone inside. What he did hear was the sound of the zombie breaking down the door. 'The piano should hold her off for a few minutes, but I'll have to find another way out', he thought. As he stared at the zombie trying to tear the piano apart, he felt a huge impulse to jump over the piano and squash the zombie. Every fiber of his body tensed itself for the jump. Troy tried to suppress this impulse. 'Remember, if you jump, you die' he said to himself. He tore himself away from the sight of the zombie and forced himself to walk down the hall, but part of him still felt like he wanted more than anything to go back and squash the zombie. He started to repeat the mantra to himself out loud. "If you jump, you die. If you jump, you die."

He wandered into a back room. "Hey pal", whispered a voice. Troy fell over, startled, and landed on something soft. "Ow!" said the voice. Troy looked down and saw a scaredy-shroom, hiding. "Sorry", said Troy, and rolled off.

"Listen," said the scaredy-shroom. "You're a squash. Your whole purpose in life is to squash zombies, and especially football zombies. You're never gonna get a better chance than this; go squash it!"

"I don't want to die", replied Troy.

"Well, everyone has to die some day", said the scaredy-shroom. "You can make your life mean something or you can grow old and rot."

"I don't have time for philosophy! Let's get out of here before we get eaten!" yelled Troy.

The scaredy-shroom thought for a bit. Slowly, he said, "I think there is a way we can both survive." Troy tried not to explode with impatience. He motioned for the shroom to go on.

"There's an old en suite adjoining this room, and I dug around the drain to make a tunnel to the sewer. Gotta be prepared; lotta zombies around here", said the shroom. "I've got a ducky tube I stole from a dead zombie. Take it down there and hide. It's just like riding a lily pad."

"Hide?" asked Troy. "Can't we go through the sewers and come out somewhere else?"

"No, it's too dangerous. There's snorkel zombies down there." said the shroom, "Try not to make too much noise. Also – this is important – you have to jump down at the very last moment. I only have one ducky tube, so I can't hide with you. You have to lure the zombie down there. Football zombies are stupid, and she's after you. She'll fall into the sewer and drown. I'm doing you a favor, you have to do one for me. By the way, my name is Steve."

"I'm Troy", said Troy. Steve handed him the ducky tube and they waited for the sound that meant the zombie had broken through the piano. The zombie charged into the back room. "Ok, go" said Steve, as Troy jumped down the tunnel to the sewer. He waited for the sound of the splash, but it never came. 'Did the zombie decide to eat Steve instead?' thought Troy. He looked up and saw the zombie stuck in the tunnel. Her eyes were closed and she wasn't making any noise.

"Steve!" yelled Troy, "I think the zombie is dead – well, dead again – and it's stuck in the tunnel. I can't get back." Steve fired off a round of spores into the zombie's backside. "No good", whispered Steve, "she won't budge. I'll go get my shovel and see if I can dig her out. And remember the snorkels – don't make any noise." Troy looked around the sewer. There was a dim light but he didn't know where it was coming from. He noticed a ripple in the water. 'Is that a snorkel?' he thought. 'No – must be imagining things. Got to calm down. Got to get home alive.' The snorkel zombie raised his head above the water. "Braaaaiiins", he moaned.

For a moment, Troy imagined himself jumping out of the ducky tube and squashing the snorkel zombie. He brushed the thought aside. He heard Steve starting to dig above him, but there was no time to explain. He started to paddle through the sewer as fast as he could go. The snorkel zombie followed, and the sound of the chase attracted more of them from proximal parts of the sewer. Troy continued to paddle as he saw the snorkels closing in on him. 'This is very unlike riding a lily pad!' he thought, and started to laugh. Adrenaline surged through his body and his sight began to blur as he rushed through the biggest gap between the zombies and further down the sewer. Suddenly he felt a wave crash over him and he knew he had reached the out-pipe. The snorkel zombies didn't dare to follow him into the open ocean. Troy climbed up the shore, still wearing the ducky tube.

In the distance, Troy saw a building with a statue of Crazy Dave on top. 'Finally, a landmark I recognise!' he thought to himself, 'I'll be home in an hour, just got to keep it in my sights'. He walked to the street above the beach and admired the view. 'If I knew where I was, I'd like to visit this place again some day.' It was very cold. Troy realised that he had to get dry, so he found a grassy patch and rolled around. Just then, the fog rolled in and his vision went white. He couldn't see the statue of Crazy Dave, the street, or even his hand in front of his face. Troy sat on his heels and started to cry. "It's not fair!" he yelled into the dense air, "I survived thugs and zombies and now I'm going to starve to death in this fog. I just want to go home!"

Troy heard a growl. It sounded halfway between a zombie and a wild beast. He heard footsteps in the sand, then on the street, then on the grass. He still couldn't see what was making them. "Stop!" he yelled out. "Don't come any closer, or I'll squash you! I don't care any more! I can't take any more! I'll squash you! I'lllll squaaasshh youuuu!"

The footsteps stopped. Troy heard a grunt, then he heard the sound of footsteps on the street, gradually getting further away. He lay down on the grass, exhausted and hungry. He didn't know how long he lay there for, but eventually he saw a light coming through the fog. Troy stood up and noticed that the light was getting brighter. Too scared to call out, but too curious to run away, he waited for the light to approach him. It was a plantern. The relief washed over him like a wave.

"Dangerous night to be out", said the plantern, "we've heard that the zombie yeti is in the area."

"I think I scared him away", said Troy, "and I'm totally lost. Can you take me back to Cherry Brook?"

"Sure thing", said the plantern, "I think you're the last one out here anyway. You've got stamens standing up to that thing. Not what I'd expect from a squash."

Troy ignored the racist remark. The other plants could think what they wanted. He was just grateful to have survived a night in Spud Row.


End file.
